Disclaimer: I love you, Jerome Robbins and Arthur Laurents. Please don't kill me for playing with your creations. :)

Note: I think my new goal is to get this done before classes start again on January 7th. We shall hope. :) Anyway, a few things: my interpretation of Mouthpiece is based on and exaggerated from what I saw from the incredibly adorable Harvey Hohnecker/Evans's portrayal in the movie. Midge O'Quinn, the female lead in this chapter, is the creation of Megfly. Their pairing is the utterly cracktastic funhouse known as Midgepiece. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. Further notes at the end!

For: The usual suspects, HedgehogQuill, SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, and xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx. But really, this is for Megfly, because she invented the best OC in the history of ever and convinced me that a non Mary-Sue, non-crazy OC could be written. Which was a minor miracle, I assure you. Anyway, here is your late Christmas present, along with thanks for letting me borrow Midge and hopes that I have done her justice. Thank you. :)

—viennacantabile

merry christmas with love

six : i want a hippopotamus for christmas

…in which Mouthpiece wants a hippopowhatchamacallit for Christmas.

.

I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
Only a hippopotamus will do
No crocodiles or rhinoceroseses
I only like hippopotamuseses
And hippopotamuses like me too!

.

Three weeks before Christmas, 1957

.

"Midgeroo," said Mouthpiece thoughtfully, "d'ya think my ma'd get me a hippopowhatchamacallit for Christmas this year?"

Midge, sitting ramrod-straight on one of the stools at Doc's, wasn't sure which part of his question was more ludicrous—'Midgeroo,' or the thought of Mouthpiece's poor mother getting him a hippopotamus for Christmas. Instead, she settled for frowning owlishly at him behind her glasses as she set her copy of The Wall Street Journaldown on the counter. "And why, exactly, would you want a hippopotamus?" she asked acerbically.

"'Cause it's a hippopotatopie," said Mouthpiece happily, as if that explained everything. Which, Midge thought wryly, considering it was Mouthpiece, it probably did.

"Well," she said truthfully, "I'm not quite certain. What brought this on, in any case?" she asked helplessly, even though Midge wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear. Who knew why Mouthpiece did anything, anyway?

"See," explained Mouthpiece happily, spinning around on his stool, "I saw a picture of a hippopoodle in this book that Riff got me las' year to color in, an' then I heard that song by that little girl—you know that one, it goes like this—" He hummed a few very off-key bars. "An', well, I always wanted a pet!"

Midge eyed him half-fearfully. It had been almost six months since that summer night, and most of the Jets still consciously avoided saying Riff or Tony's name. Midge couldn't really blame them, either—after all, even if she didn't really have very many friends (if any), she thought she could imagine what it would be like to lose someone very close to you. Something like misplacing her glasses, or favorite textbook, she presumed. But probably worse.

Mouthpiece, though, didn't really seem to be having a problem with talking about Riff, at least not as far as Midge could see. But then, Mouthpiece wasn't exactly the most emotionally advanced teenage boy she knew. If she knew any. Which was highly doubtful.

Midge decided to ignore the mention of Riff for the time being. "That would be quite a time-consuming pet," she said dryly.

"I wouldn' mind. Action said hippopatooties are for babies, though," Mouthpiece went on mournfully.

At this, Midge perked up. "Well, the hippopotamus was the Egyptian goddess of childbirth, you know," she informed him.

Mouthpiece furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

"Yes; Taweret," said Midge brightly, pleased at last to be on familiar footing. "The identification derives from the ancient Egyptians' observations that the female hippopotamus was quite aggressively protective of her young, you know."

Mouthpiece goggled at her. "Gee. You're smart, Midgenius."

Midge's eyes widened. "Yes—well," she stumbled, with a little cough. It was so rare that she received compliments (especially from boys) that she wasn't quite sure how to react. "I—thank you."

Mouthpiece had already forgotten all about it, though. "Gee, d'ya think he'd gobble me up, though?" he asked, frowning as the thought visibly struck him. "A-Rab says he would, an' I guess he'd know."

Midge stared at him. "Mouthpiece. A-Rab," she sniffed disdainfully, "is wrong. It's just like in the song. Hippopotamuses," she said slowly, as if she were talking to a child (which, really, Midge thought with a sigh, she was), "are herbivores. Vegetarians," she clarified after a moment, supposing that Mouthpiece might have a better chance of decoding the latter term than the former.

Mouthpiece goggled. "What's a vegytubblearius?"

Midge sighed. She should have known better than to try a five-syllable word on him. "An animal or person who doesn't eat meat," she explained resignedly.

Mouthpiece furrowed his brow and absorbed this for a minute. "You mean…like pot roast?"

Midge nodded wearily. "Yes. Meat like pot roast."

Mouthpiece's jaw dropped. "But I like pot roast."

"Yes," Midge repeated all-too-patiently, wondering for the twentieth time if Mouthpiece really had only been dropped on his head just once when he was a child, "but vegetarians don't."

"Oh," Mouthpiece said, subsiding into a thoughtful silence. After a minute, he brightened. "Well," he offered, "if the hippokaloric don' like my ma's pot roast, I guess that means I get more."

"You might think of it that way," agreed a slightly surprised Midge as she pushed her glasses up. Oddly enough, his train-of-thought—Midge couldn't bring herself to call it logic—did seem to make sense. Maybe there was hope for Mouthpiece, after all.

"I can' wait for my hippotabulous," grinned the tall Jet obliviously. "Hey, I bet he can be the Jet mascot-thingamajib an' he can fight Krupke an' alla them coppers for us!"

Or, reconsidered Midge with another sigh, maybe not.

The tall girl adjusted her glasses. "Mouthpiece," she said reasonably, "hippopotamuses require an enormous amount of time and effort. It's not exactly like getting a dog, you know."

"Well, yeah," nodded Mouthpiece cheerfully. "See, Ma said we couldn' get a dog 'cause we don't got the money an' anyway even if we did our lan'lord wouldn' let us 'cause he don' like animals an' then we'd have to go find a new place to live but we don't got money. So that's why I want a hipporama now."

Midge bit her lip and glanced at the lanky Jet, feeling a bit chastened despite his twisted logic. Of course she knew that many of the Jets came from less-than-desirable homes, but it was difficult to remember in cases like Mouthpiece's, where he genuinely didn't seem to mind or even understand the implications of what little she had learned of his living arrangements. "Oh," she said awkwardly. "I…well, I'm sure your mother loves you, so…even if she can't get you a hippopotamus, you should be very happy," Midge finished firmly.

"I know," agreed Mouthpiece comfortably. "I still want a hippomatopolous, though."

Midge ducked her head, avoiding Mouthpiece's wide grin. There were three weeks left for Mouthpiece's wish to come true, but somehow, she very much doubted the Jet would be getting what he wanted for Christmas this year. Hopefully, she thought, this would just be yet another one of Mouthpiece's short-lived fascinations, much like his keeping of a pet rock and his conviction that chocolate was a health food and his insistence that ceiling fans were alive had been.

"Hippoalpha, hippobeta, hippogamma," chanted Mouthpiece, wriggling on his stool excitedly.

Midge winced. Hopefully.

.

As the weeks passed, though, Mouthpiece's fixation on hippopotamuses seemed much more akin to his perpetual obsession with trains, Velma Andersen, and yodeling. It just went to show, Midge thought with a sigh, that the one time his memory lasted longer than thirty seconds, it had to be about something as ridiculous as hippopotamuses. And even though it was now the morning of Christmas Eve, and there still wasn't any kind of indication that Mrs. Winkle would be putting a hippopotamus under the tree that night, Mouthpiece rather obviously still hadn't given up hope.

"—an' then I'll take my hippopaloogie all around the world, an' we'll fight all the bulls in PR-land, an' we'll climb that Mount Everwhatsit in Sweden, an' we'll go to the Great Wall of China in—" He stopped, screwing up his face.

Midge stared at him from her seat in the back of Doc's, her face a mixture of disbelief and horror. There was so much wrong with what he just had said that she gaped in silence for a full minute before she finally chose to concentrate on the part that she felt would hurt his brain the least: "Mouthpiece. Please tell me you know where the Great Wall of China is."

Mouthpiece thought for a second, leaning precariously back on his chair. Then his broad face widened into an ecstatic grin. "Um…California? There're lotsa yellow people there, right?"

Midge dropped her face into her hand. "Mouthpiece," she said in a muffled groan, "try to think, for the smallest moment. It's in the name. The Great—Wall—of—China."

Mouthpiece's brow furrowed as he frowned and scratched his head. "But there ain't no country named 'The Great Wall of China,' Midgerest, don'tcha know that?" he asked patronizingly.

Midge resisted the urge to cry.

"Anyway, Santa Claus'll bring me a hippoparade, Midgenormous," said Mouthpiece confidently, "just wait. Santa'll do it."

Midge was fortunately saved from having to respond to this doubtful assertion when a very distressed Minnie rushed over, her crinolines bouncing.

"Oh, Midge, Johnny's got himself tangled up and I can't get him out!" she explained fretfully. "Can you help?"

Frowning, Midge glanced over to the Christmas tree where Minnie and Baby John had been working for the past hour. Her jaw dropped. Baby John was looped up in at least fifty feet of Christmas lights and tinsel that wound in and out through his hair, clothes, and limbs. Midge thought she could even see a bulb or two sticking out of his sneakers.

"Y—yes, I suppose I'll help, Minnie," she agreed weakly, getting to her feet. "Just—please stop sounding so distressed. You're making me nervous."

"Oh, thank you!" Minnie gushed, taking Midge's hand to pull her over to the befuddled Baby John.

Midge, though, glanced at Mouthpiece and frowned. Who knew what mischief the near-child would get up to if left to his own devices? She looked around the room at all the Jets and their girls, most of whom seemed quite absorbed in each other, with the possible exception of Action, who was scowling so fiercely Midge thought his face was liable to stay that way if he kept it up much longer. Well, no one else seemed to have the presence of mind to take care of him, so Midge supposed it was up to her. She heaved a sigh and gestured at the tall Jet. "Come along, Mouthpiece," she instructed, feeling quite like a kindergarten teacher. "You can—oh, hold the ornaments, or something."

"'Kay," beamed Mouthpiece, hopping up from his chair and lumbering along after them with elephantine grace.

Midge felt her hand being squeezed. "That was nice, Midge," Minnie said happily in a low voice.

Midge immediately turned fire-engine red. "What? Oh—no—I—I simply wanted to keep him out of trouble," she stumbled. "I—"

Minnie smiled at her friend. "It was really nice," she repeated dreamily, and turned back around to lead them over to disentangle Baby John.

Midge stared at Minnie, glanced back at the soppily grinning Mouthpiece, and groaned. "I knew I was spending too much time with these people," she said to no one in particular, then resignedly followed Minnie, a humming Mouthpiece tagging along obliviously after her.

.

There didn't seem to be any way around it.

"Minnie," she said determinedly as the two girls began the walk home with Baby John, "where would I be able to buy a hippopotamus? A toy one," she clarified, as Minnie opened her mouth, looking confused.

Minnie blinked. "Oh," she said. "But—why do you need a toy hippopotamus?"

"That is exactly what I would like to know," muttered Midge under her breath. "It's for Mouthpiece," she qualified, clearing her throat and feeling uncomfortably warm. "You know he won't stop dithering about having a hippopotamus for Christmas. I think it's that silly song."

Minnie's lips curved into a smile as she shared a pleased glance with Baby John on her right. "Oh, Midge, that's so nice of you," she cooed.

Midge flinched. There was that Minnie-word again. "Well—no—not really," she said awkwardly.

Minnie paid her no heed. "I'm sure Mouthpiece will be really happy," she beamed. "He does seem to want one, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, Mouthpiece'll really like it," chimed in Baby John enthusiastically. "An' a toy one won't eat him, like A-Rab said it would."

Midge heaved a sigh. "A-Rab," she informed Baby John sternly, "is wrong. The diet of the hippopotamus consists largely of terrestrial grasses. It is not carnivorous. In any case, a stuffed hippopotamus won't require feeding or care, and furthermore, will not be prone to marking its territory in the manner of adult male hippopotamuses."

"Gee, how do they do that?" asked a wide-eyed Baby John.

"They spin their tails and defecate over as large an area as possible," explained Midge obligingly. "It's fascinating—though rather messy, of course."

"I'm sure it is," chirped the ever-cheerful Minnie.

"I guess," shrugged Baby John, who, judging from his confused face, hadn't really gotten the gist of that sentence. "Anyway, it'd be kinda hard to find a real hippopotamus, I think."

Midge resisted the urge to groan. Baby John was sweet, yes, but she had no idea what Minnie saw in him. "Yes. It would. Which is why I would like to know where to purchase a facsimile of the animal. As I'm not quite certain."

Minnie blinked. "Didn't your parents ever take you toy shopping, Midge?"

Midge flushed. "I—well, no, not exactly," she hedged, taking off her glasses and giving them a quick polish. "I've never really wanted a toy, other than my books."

When next she put them on, Minnie had a sympathetic smile on her face. "Well," the petite brunette said thoughtfully, glancing at Baby John again, "there's always F.A.O. Schwartz. Or the department store. You could try there."

Midge nodded, trying to ignore the distinct sense of pity she felt emanating from her two friends. "Yes, I—I think I'll try that now. Goodbye," she stammered, then strode swiftly away through the snow to hide her embarrassment, only slowing her pace when she was a good two blocks away. It was inconceivable that she should be feeling the way that she was, Midge thought, biting her lip. She was quite used to being alone with her books, after all. But somehow seeing the look Minnie had exchanged with Baby John drove home the fact that—

Midge scowled. Whatever the fact happened to be, it didn't matter, she thought furiously. After all, books were always there for you. They never let you down, not ever. And she never had to worry about them being there one day, then gone the next. Like Riff, and Tony, and even Bernardo, she forced herself to think. So it was much, much better this way.

Whatever this way was.

.

"No, sorry," said the bored-looking clerk at the department store. "We don't stock hippopotamuses anymore. That song came out four years ago; they're out of date. Now," he added, his smile switching on like a light bulb, "talking and singing squirrels, those I have. They're the prime gift this season!"

Midge shuddered at the thought. "No, thank you."

"Hand-crafted wooden bears?" tried the enterprising salesman.

Midge frowned. "No, thank you."

"Oh, what about these fashion dolls?" exclaimed the salesman with the air of hitting upon exactly the right gift. He held up an impossibly long-legged doll fantastically outfitted in a dress that boasted more crinolines than even Minnie Goddard's skirts, and whose exaggerated facial features spoke not of childhood play, but of Hollywood glamour.

Midge scowled. "Those dolls," she acidly informed the salesman, "are a blatant illustration of the misogynistic treatment and expectations of women. In this modern day and age, I would expect you'd know better. Besides," she went on with a huff, "you don't seriously expect that I would fall for that kind of marketing ploy, do you?"

The salesman looked her brown-clad, stick-straight figure up and down and raised an eyebrow. "No, miss," he said after a moment, "I don't suppose you would. We do offer makeovers on the second floor, though, if you're interested," he added pointedly.

Midge turned red. "No, thank you."

.

"What are you, crazy?" asked the frazzled salesman at F.A.O. Schwartz, who seemed to have gotten in the habit of twitching every time a child neared him. "We've been out for weeks! They've been so popular after that song came out in '53 that we just can't keep 'em in stock, you know!"

Midge pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Yes," she agreed with gritted teeth, "I suppose I do know. Do you have any idea where I might find one?"

Before he could answer, the public address system blared to life. "Attention, please! Santa is now receiving visitors at Igloo Number Four. Santa is now receiving visitors at Igloo Number Four."

The effect this announcement had on the toy store was incredible. A horde of roaring toddlers and parents rushed by on their way to see Santa, sweeping the salesman with them.

"Try the Central Park Zoo gift shop!" screamed the salesman from deep within the crowd as he was dragged away.

Midge stared after him. "All right, then," she said weakly, pushing her glasses up. "The zoo it is."

.

"So you're out," said Midge disappointedly to the square-faced worker at the hippopotamus exhibit. She shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sighed. That was it, she supposed. She'd checked every place Minnie had mentioned, but no one seemed to have any toy hippopotamuses for sale. Well, thought Midge, she had tried. There was really nothing she could do about it, now that it was getting dark. She had to be home soon, and in any case, all the stores would be closing. And—Midge's eyes widened. Was that—

"Mouthpiece?" she breathed. Ignoring the confused zoo employee, she crept carefully closer, ducking behind a nearby balloon cart just in case.

The tall figure didn't seem to hear her, but the blond hair and childlike, excited movements confirmed her guess. The lanky Jet was standing with his face pressed to the glass of the hippopotamus enclosure and waving to the animals, clearly ecstatic.

Midge blinked. So he really did want a hippopotamus, she thought, amazed. She still couldn't really see why, but…he wanted one. And he really, truly believed that he was going to get one. And that, Midge supposed, was the important part. She wasn't the most tenderhearted person in the world, like Minnie, but she couldn't let the boy's hopes be crushed come Christmas morning. She just couldn't.

Midge sighed. She really was spending too much time with these Jets.

SPLASH.

Midge jumped, then groaned as she looked in the direction of the sound. There, at the bottom of the hippopotamus habitat pool, sat a dazed Mouthpiece, dripping wet and brushing hay out of his hair.

Midge stared in stunned silence for a full five minutes as various zoo personnel ran around in a panicked state and children screamed about the hippo-man and Mouthpiece happily petted one of his new friends. Then her lips twitched—she couldn't help it.

Mouthpiece, Midge supposed wryly, really did want that hippopotamus.

.

As she walked through the door and into her apartment an hour later, Midge steeled herself. She was about to do one of the most frightening things known to all of man, and science, and God.

"Mother?" she called tentatively. "Are you busy?"

"Oh, hello, sweetheart," sang out Mrs. O'Quinn as she sailed in through the kitchen. "You know I'm never too busy for—what is that smell?" she asked abruptly, sniffing the air and ending up in front of her daughter. "Midge, my dear, you smell like a barnyard. Not that I've ever been in a barnyard," she amended, wrinkling her nose.

"I was at the zoo," Midge protested defensively. "Zoos are known for their odiferous fauna!"

"Oh, listen to you," beamed Mrs. O'Quinn. "You're just so smart, darling!"

Midge sighed and plunged on. "Anyway—"

"Now, what is it you needed, hmm?" smiled her mother, dusting off a stray piece of hay from her daughter's shoulder.

"Well, you see—"

"You know I'd be happy to help!"

"Yes, I—"

"Name it, cupcake!"

Midge gritted her teeth. "Mother. I need your help."

Mrs. O'Quinn beamed. "You just say the word!"

Midge sighed heavily. Well, here goes nothing, she thought hopelessly. "Mother," she said determinedly, "this is what I need to do…"

.

Midge still wasn't exactly sure as to why she was doing this, but as she stood in front of the door to the Winkle apartment on Christmas morning, a befrilled and beribboned bag in her hands, she reasoned that Mouthpiece was such a child that he would probably cry if his little dream of possessing a gigantic four-legged nuisance didn't come true. And for reasons she had already outlined to Minnie and Baby John, Midge wasn't exactly going to go out and get him a hippopotamus, but…. She fidgeted.

There was a fumbling noise at the door, and Mouthpiece peered out. He smiled hugely when he saw her. "Hiya, Smidgen!" he exclaimed, waving furiously and adding wisely, "It's Christmas."

Midge pinched the bridge of her nose—Mouthpiece had such a gift for the obvious. "Yes, it is," she agreed all-too-patiently. "Which is why I'm here, Mouthpiece."

"Oh," said the tall Jet, considering this. "Why are ya here?"

"Since it's Christmas," Midge said in a teacherly voice, "I have a—gift—for you."

"Ya do?" asked Mouthpiece, eyes wide.

Midge nodded, thrusting the bag out at him. "Here," she sighed.

Taking the bag, the boy dug inside and pulled out—

"Aww, gee," Mouthpiece breathed, awed, "it's a hippopowhat'sitsface." Holding up the small, lavender stuffed toy—which, Midge noted ruefully, not for the first time, had an inordinate amount of lace on it—he hugged it to his chest.

Watching Mouthpiece's face stretch into his signature dopey grin, Midge felt—well, kind of touched, really, like there was a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading over her. She hated to admit it, but she was pleased that Mouthpiece seemed to like her gift so much.

Midge decided she didn't like this feeling. "Yes," she said briskly, giving herself a shake and pushing her glasses up, "it's a hippopotamus. Merry Christmas, Mouthpiece. I hope you'll be happy now."

"Oh, yeah, you betcha I will," said Mouthpiece ecstatically. "It's a hipposaurus." Glancing at Midge, he tilted his head to the side. "So why'd ya get me a hippopudding, Midgeureka?" he asked interestedly.

Midge's mouth dropped open. "Well, you've only been saying you wanted one for the past month," she spluttered.

"I have?" asked Mouthpiece, wide-eyed. "Wow."

"Yes," insisted Midge, quite unable to believe that Mouthpiece had chosen this moment to forget that he had been spouting hippopotamus this, hippopotamus that since Thanksgiving. "You even said Santa would bring you one if your mother couldn't."

"An' see, Midgerette," Mouthpiece said happily, "Santa did bring me a hippotambulance. Good thing, too," he added reflectively, "'cause on account-a me fallin' in the hippo house yesterday, I can't go to see my hippotarius friends at the zoo anymore."

Midge's jaw dropped as she stared at the Jet, dumbfounded. "But—"

"Thanks for helpin' him get it to me, Midge," Mouthpiece breathed, squeezing his hippo so hard that the cotton stuffing bulged out from its seams. He beamed. "Thanks a bunch."

Midge shut her mouth with a snap and blinked, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Oh. Well. Yes. You're welcome, then."

"Gee, it's leakin' a little," Mouthpiece said worriedly, peering at the hippopotamus. "D'ya think it's okay?"

Flinching, Midge snatched the toy back from him and made a futile attempt to poke some of the overflowing white stuffing back in through the seams. She winced as the cotton fibers caught on the multiple band-aids stuck to her fingers and groaned. With her luck and abysmal sewing skills, it was lucky Mouthpiece had even recognized it as a…hippopowhat'sitsface. "Yes. It's fine," she snipped defensively. "Just…a little delicate. Be careful."

Mouthpiece's eyes widened. "Gee, are you okay?" he asked concernedly, leaning forward to stare at her hands. "What happened to your fingers?"

"I—well—" Midge stammered. As a rule, Midge found it very difficult to admit she was capable of anything less than a superior level in any kind of skill. Even the more…feminine arts. But then, she thought with a sigh, if there was ever anyone less inclined to think the worse of her for being less than talented there, it was Mouthpiece. "I'm not very good at sewing," she finally admitted in a tiny voice.

"Oh," said Mouthpiece sympathetically. "Me, neither."

Midge went red and thrust the stuffed toy back at him. "I—you—"

"Anyway, thanks!" beamed Mouthpiece, taking the lavender hippo and hugging it once more.

"I, um—have to go. Yes. Go," stuttered Midge. "I—well—Merry Christmas!" she blurted, before hurrying away at a very fast clip, praying that her face would turn back to its normal shade before she reached the street. She was still within earshot, however, when Mouthpiece trumpeted a "MERRY CHRISTMAS, MIDGEOPOTAMUS!" down the hall.

Midge rolled her eyes, at last somewhat able to regain her composure after this parting sally. Midgeopotamus. Of all things. Really. In fact, he'd probably name the silly little hippopo—

"That's what I'm gonna name my hippopalooza!" called Mouthpiece cheerfully. "Midgeopotamus!"

Midge groaned. And there it was. She was really regretting spending Christmas Eve pricking her fingers unto eternity now; if this was the thanks that was going to come out of it, she'd just as soon listen to the boy whine about hippopotamuses for another month—

Suddenly she felt arms wrapping around her. "Thanks, Your Midgesty!" breathed Mouthpiece fervently from behind her. "I think you're real nice!" Then, before she could do anything but turn bright red again, he let go and dashed back into his apartment, leaving a very stunned Midge in the hallway.

After a minute, Midge permitted herself a reluctant smile. Mouthpiece, she supposed, wasn't quite so bad, after all.

.

.end.

Note the Second: Mouthpiece came up with no less than sixteen variations on 'hippopotamus' and fifteen on 'Midge,' though not all of them were used. Heh. Also, though Mouthpiece referred to Chinese people as 'yellow,' he definitely didn't mean it offensively (and neither do I); he just sort of talks that way. Anyway, kudos if you can find the Little Women and L. Frank Baum references in this chapter! :)

Music: You really can't listen to anything but the original Gayla Peevey recording. :)

Hint: Unless you're involved in the West Side Story RP Forum, you probably won't know either of the characters. But I'll try to make it worthwhile, anyway. :)

love, viennacantabile

P.S. All the hippopotamus facts? Are real. Or at least as real as Wikipedia says. Including the one about marking territory. Teehee. :)